


IKEA's it's own country

by accidentallyonpurpose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, IKEA, M/M, greg works at ikea, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:31:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4634010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallyonpurpose/pseuds/accidentallyonpurpose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I lost my little sibling in IKEA and now I need your help finding them" au</p>
            </blockquote>





	IKEA's it's own country

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos and comment at your leisure!

“Sherlock, this is not amusing!” Mycroft yell-whispered as he stalked past kitchen displays, glancing into every one as he passed. As he scoured the store for his brother, Mycroft reflected on how they had gotten into this mess.   
The brothers had been performing an experiment that involved combustible materials and they had been performing it too close to the wooden bed frame that resided in the spare bedroom-come-evil laboratory. Unfortunately for them, this resulted in the bedframe catching fire before Mycroft could successfully put out the flame with the fire extinguisher. Thankfully the house didn’t burn down but the bedframe couldn’t be salvaged, resulting in Mummy and Daddy forcing the boys to find a new frame as part of their punishment.   
They had already picked out a new bedframe and were trying to find their way out of the infernal maze of displays to the self-serve section when Mycroft had lost Sherlock.   
Mycroft huffed and crossed his arms as he reached then end of the kitchen displays. He didn’t understand how someone so young could escape so completely. Mycroft had only turned his back for a second and the next thing he knew, Sherlock was gone.  
“Sherlock Holmes, if you can hear me, come out right now.” There was no answer, and no hint of curly dark hair. Smoothing his hair back in frustration, Mycroft suppressed an aggravated groan.   
Sighing, Mycroft continued onto the next section: dining rooms. He stalked briskly down the exhibit aisle, futilely peering once again into every display. Just as he was starting to feel despair, a voice came from behind him.  
“Can I help you?”  
Just the thing Mycroft needed. An attractive stranger seeing him in all his humiliation. The boy in front of him was sixteen, tall and rugged in a rugby playing kind of way. His dark brown hair matched his sparkling brown eyes and he was wearing the standard IKEA uniform of yellow striped shirt.  
“I- no I’m alright.”  
‘Are you sure? You look a little… lost.”  
“It’s not me who’s lost,” Mycroft mumbled under his breath. “I’m fine,” he said louder, directly addressing the stranger.  
“Okay, well if you need anything, I’ll be around,” the stranger replied with a smile before wandering away. Mycroft returned to the displays, loudly whispering for Sherlock once more while trying to maintain his dignity. When he had scoured the entire department and was starting to feel hopeless, a familiar voice chimed from behind him.  
“Me again,” the stranger said with a smile. “Sorry to bother, but you really seem like you’ve lost someone?”  
“Yes, my little brother,” Mycroft admitted after a moment. “He’s a bit of a miscreant and clearly as slippery as an eel,” Mycroft admitted drily.   
“What’s he look like then? Hopefully he can’t have gotten far.”  
“Oh trust me, if he wanted to be in France, he would be in France right now. His craftiness is unparalleled. He is six years old, about this tall,” Mycroft indicated about four feet tall with his hand, ”dark curly hair and blue eyes. His name is Sherlock,” he added.   
“Sherlock,” the worker repeated. “And your name?”  
“Mycroft,” he held out his hand.  
“Unique,” the worker commented. “My name is Greg.”  
“Nice to meet you,” Mycroft responded.   
“You too. Now let’s go find your brother! You’ve pretty much covered this section, right?”  
“Indeed.”  
“Well there’s bedrooms next, and then the children’s section and then downstairs is the self-serve section and home décor. How about you take bedrooms and I’ll do the children’s section, and if we haven’t found him then we’ll go downstairs together and scope out the self-serve and home décor. Sound like a plan?”  
It sounded like a very sound plan. One Mycroft was suitably impressed with. “Yes, that is acceptable,” is what he responded.  
“Great, see you in a few minutes.” With that, Greg sauntered away towards the children’s section. Mycroft wandered into the bedroom section, feeling simultaneously disheartened and encouraged. He supposed that if he lost Sherlock, his parents could always have another child to replace them if they felt the need, or they could suffice with the perfect specimen they had in Mycroft. He was glad Greg was helping him search for his brother, and the fact that he was nice to look at helped.   
Mycroft made quick work of the section, unsuccessful once more in his searches. He went into the children’s section and quickly spotted Greg, who was bent down trying to peer into a little tent.   
“I don’t think you will find him there,” Mycroft said drily from beside Greg. “Shall we try the downstairs area?” Greg straightened immediately, smiling at Mycroft.  
“Sounds like a good idea to me.”  
“Great, right this way.” They took the stairs quickly, reaching the bottom and taking in the wide expanse of home décor spread out before them. Directly to his right, Mycroft spotted mirrors and decided to start there. When he reached the section, all he saw was his own worried expression reflected back at him.   
“Mycroft, over here!” he heard from his left. Trotting towards the voice, Mycroft came across the lamp section and practically ran into Sherlock, who was staring transfixed at a wall lamp shaped like a bee, Greg beside him.   
“Sherlock,” Mycroft breathed, squatting down beside him. “Is this where you’ve been the entire time?”  
“No,” Sherlock admitted, glancing briefly at Mycroft. “I was hiding in a cupboard in the bedroom section for a while, but I got bored so I went to the children’s section but there were too many children there so I came down here and found this.” He shrugged as if that explained everything.   
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Greg said with a teasing smile towards Mycroft.  
“Sherlock, you will make me go prematurely grey,” Mycroft sighed.  
“I hope so,” he replied, eyes still riveted to the lamp.   
“Let us go find the bedframe and escape this madness,” Mycroft insisted, grabbing Sherlock’s hand and dragging him towards the sign boasting bedframes. Greg ran to get a cart and followed close behind.  
Sherlock only marginally dragged his heels as he was steered away from the fascinating lamp. “We are getting that lamp,” Sherlock insisted.  
“Maybe another day, Sherlock.” Mycroft looked down at the little piece of cardstock that he had written the name and number of the bedframe on. “Now where is this cursed piece of furniture?”   
Silently, Greg held out his hand and beckoned for Mycroft to hand over the cardstock. Glancing at the bedframe written on it, Greg nodded and started down an aisle.  
“Right this way, boys,” he called over his shoulder. The Holmes brothers followed behind, Mycroft keeping a tight grip on Sherlock’s hand. Quickly Greg found the frame and loaded it onto the cart, leading the way out of the aisle and to the checkout lines. Taking out his own pencil, Greg quickly scrawled something on the bottom of the cardstock before handing it back to Mycroft.   
“You may want to hold onto that,” Greg said with a smile. “You boys should be able to handle it from here, and I’ve got to pop off back to dining rooms. It was nice meeting you Mycroft, and Sherlock.” With a final smile and a wave, Greg sauntered back into the body of the store.   
Mycroft waved before turning back to the front and noticing they were next in line. When they reached the cashier, Mycroft reached into his wallet and pulled out his credit card, handing over the piece of cardstock to the cashier.  
“One of your associates said I would need to hold onto this?” he said in response to her confused look. The cashier’s brow furrowed for a second before a smirk graced her lips.  
“Yeah, I think that’s meant for you to hang on to. Check the bottom there,” she said, handing it back. “Will that be cash or credit?”  
“Credit,” Mycroft said absently, inserting his card with one hand as he looked at the cardstock in the other.  
Written on the bottom of the cardstock was Greg followed by a phone number. Mycroft felt himself go scarlet as he coughed and tucked the cardstock quickly in his pocket. He finished up the purchase as quickly as humanly possible and left the store, Sherlock trailing behind him and asking incessant questions about what was on the cardstock.  
“Nothing,” Mycroft finally snapped. “Nothing that concerns you,” he added in a moderately gentler voice. And if he pulled out his phone later in the privacy of his own room, Sherlock needn’t ever know.


End file.
